To My Mother Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Like primary colors,
My love towards you;
Never turns or palters,
Everything's quite true.

It has none boarders,
Nor drifts into the blue;
And it never falters,
In a standing value.

Coloration of colors,
Never need to redo;
Nothing there alters,
What love does imbue.

Each virtue orders,
Sees so clearly through;
Knows of no brooders,
Or those that argue.

The palette of colors,
Of shadings - quite new;
I've always loved you,
And newer withdrew.